Vital History of a Dalish First
by TivyTiptoes
Summary: Our Dalish historian fights the hole in the sky and the unfolding motives, witnessing the birth of a god in the process. Will she emerge the same creature that she was at the start?
1. Chapter 1

Day 1 –

I woke up with a headache.

The cottage was clean and the bed comfy, but I could tell I had been here for a while. The sunlight filtered through tree branches and it hurt to look anywhere, so I closed my eyes again. Trying to remember with closed eyes hurt less, but it was no more successful. I just couldn't remember what happened.

My clan sent me to report on the happenings of the human's great conclave and to write down what happened. I remember that. I was meant to be a scribe of the history in progress, so that the elves are not excluded as they so often have been. Well, I can tell historic events have happened. There is a hole in the sky and my hand has been embedded with a Fade-Mark and I have no idea how or why. How's that for history?

I heard a door open, so I opened my eyes. A young female elf walked in, carrying linens. Apparently, I scared her, being awake. She tells me I have slept for three days.

I'm guessing slept was a euphemism for dying from how much my head still hurts.

Dressing myself in some clothes that looked like they were left for me, I noticed a note on the corner of the desk from one healer to another, tracking my progress. Yes, I definitely had been dying.

My head hurts, but I don't feel like I'm dying just now.

I wonder why that is.

Day 2 –

There aren't enough supplies for the number of people here, so I spent the afternoon walking afield searching for elfroot patches in the snow. My headache has not dissipated either, so I hoped there might be a sprig or two of royal elfroot, but if there was, I couldn't find it. The apothecary had a pinch left which he gladly gave me when I arrived with all the other leaves, but it hasn't done anything for the pain so far.

An elven mage named Solas looked after me during my time in prison. He is a major reason I didn't succumb to whatever happened during the explosion, I am told. He suggested that sleep would restore me, especially since I am now physically connected to the Fade. During sleep, my ethereal body returns to the Fade, so as my physical body rests, my spirit too will heal and thus, my headaches should be less. As I have been careful not to mention the headache, I will assume his keen observation noted my wrinkled brow or some other clue. I'll try to be more cautious.

These days have been exhausting, so tonight I'll have an early night and see if it helps.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 3 –

They're calling me "Herald of Andraste", which doesn't feel right. I might be heralding something, but I'm doubtful that it's the martyr beloved of a creator. She and I don't have that much in common.

But apparently, I _can_ close the rifts in the fabric of the Fade; it wasn't just a one off event. Those demons are anxious to get out of there, that's for sure. At every one of those small breaches, at least so far, there have been a few demons or other vicious manifestations. The people trying to stop the spread of the breaches are quite skilled at killing demons and the like, although they aren't very self-assured. It makes sense. One does not see the sky ripped apart every day.

I wonder, however, why I'm so calm about it all.

I must admit this sense of certainty is a bit uncanny. Even when I consider the difficulty of our task, or the breadth of the disintegration of the Veil, I remain unchanged. That, by itself, makes me worry. I wonder if their Maker is behind me after all, but I just don't realize it. Did Andraste feel like this as well? On second thought, she spoke endlessly of the fact that The Maker was leading her onward, didn't she? At least the Chant of Light says as much, or so sayeth the woman outside my window who "delights in the Maker" via her ceaseless repetition.

I'll keep you posted.

Day 4 –

More and more people come to our small outpost. They use the term "Inquisition", which I definitely do not like. It sounds so severe, and it implies we have the authority, the RIGHT to do what we're doing. We do have the responsibility to close the rifts, at least in my opinion, but it is the responsibility of a world trying to prevent the ascendency of these demon-creatures from oozing through the holes between our worlds and settling permanently into our own by subjugating us to their will. To be clear, lest history think otherwise, the demons encountered so far appear to want us to do just that, and have fought violently when we think to deprive them of that notion.

We have encountered a Grey Warden named Blackwall. He seems a kind enough man. He very willingly joined our cause and gave us rights to treaties the Grey Wardens have made use of through the ages to protect the world from new Blights as they arrive. At least he realizes the Breach poisons and seeks to destroy our world. Nice to see someone realize what these tears in the Veil actually can mean for us all.

Each time I use this strange mark embedded in my hand to seal back the veil of the Fade, my arm throbs with pain and a blinding light floods my brain with fire. Concentrating on peaceful purpose centers me and shields me from the brunt of it, but I have a suspicious nature and cannot help but wonder what the cost of this is. I am surprised to find I am capable of the sacrifice it takes in order to suppose the cost is merely my physical life; as part of my self-surety, I also have no fear my eternal self is in any danger. Surely I am no saint, but my sins do not number so high as to deserve this type of punishment.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 5 –

I have begun examining the motives of my companions. Do any of them benefit from the breaches remaining? Do any of them benefit at all? My basic answer to both questions is no, but doubt lingers, licking at my mind.

The handsome commander – Cullen? I feel his need for a task creating work for him to do. I doubt the man sleeps more than a few hours each night, his sense of purpose is so plain, so he is in the clear. The spy mistress – her sadness cuts her deeply, so she does this for revenge – so funny that the woman who guards and sells secrets was the most simple to understand. The woman who led me out of the prison – Cassandra – she is not quite as pained as she is intolerant of the notion that someone could do this while she was on guard, as it were. She failed her prior mistress; she will not do so again.

The others? There are only two others that matter – or rather could matter – in the unravelling of this mystery: Varric, a dwarf financier and writer of some fame, and Solas, the mage I mentioned earlier. Both were there from the start, ready to throw their weight against the danger without hesitation. If they were men like the Commander, someone so dedicated to doing what he thinks is right, my speculation would be at an end, but neither is. The first spins stories of the living which requires poetic embellishment, while the second tells stories of the lives that have passed, and history is told through the lens of the historian: neither can be a paragon of truth.

Varric admits freely he suspects the amulet his brother and he unearthed during an excavation caused or precipitated the red lyrium we now find so prevalent near the rifts. Solas, however, offers only the fact that he is interested in the Fade, and he walks it in dreams, so its destruction could lead to the destruction of our world. Or vice-versa. But he is a puzzle - for while he is certainly not from those city ghettos, neither is he one of the Dalish. As I say – a puzzle.

These are both truths for these men, but they are both lies. That is easy enough for me to see. Should I be concerned just because I can tell they cannot face the full truth by uttering it to relative strangers?

I cannot condemn them, but neither can I let it go just yet.

Day 6 -

Have I mentioned that my headaches subside somewhat after sleep? Dreams so vibrant and beautiful ensnare me each night since the arrival of my Fade-mark, pulling me through emerald forests, moss-cloaked ruins of castles long abandoned. But the danger of the breach still tugs at my sleeping self too, and I find myself hearing ominous noises or whispers of danger even in these tranquil settings. It is hard to let my guard relax fully. I must write to Keeper Deshanna as I seem to recall her saying that dreams such as these were a portent of gaining the dream-walker abilities long ago. Although they are rare, Solas must be one, I suppose. Maybe I will inquire with him as well.

Our work continues, but we have begun making substantial counterstrikes on the damage done to The Hinterlands. Much of the area surrounding the Crossroads has been reclaimed, but the Mages and the Templars wreak havoc upon whatever crosses their path, both convinced they have the moral high-ground. Why must people become so pig-headed? But, thankfully, we have managed to cull their numbers some in these past days. I just wish more of them would listen to reason, rather than run headlong toward their own deaths.

Tomorrow, we intend to travel to Val Royeaux to try to reason with the Chantry. I hope they will surprise us and not rush headlong toward Death as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Day 7 –

On the plus side, we had lunch at a lovely, open air tavern.

The Chantry had no intention of discussion and they were quick to denounce me and our Inquisition as heretics opposing the Will of the Maker. The gaping holes in our skies? Mere trivia.

Before they could finish their childish foot stomping, however, a most unpleasant turn of events. The Lord Seeker Lucius, Cassandra's former commanding officer, marched through the demonstration with a small contingent of men, ruthlessly ordering a thug to attack a Revered Mother that was in the process of telling us how awful _we_ were. His slap knocked her backward, and as he marched off with the remaining Templars, her grand public display was left in ruins. Cassandra was shocked and confused by the Lord Seeker's actions. I suspect the Revered Mother was as well. I won't say it pleased me to watch, but I won't say I was unamused either.

We recruited some help in the city, so that was another promising sign. A vendor was willing to supply our camps more actively. Supply chains always need improvements.

Also, a somewhat unhinged woman gave us a bit of a scare. She claims to be one of the leaders of the Friends of Red Jenny. While she has a bit of a problem keeping her mind on one point at a time, she also managed to give us good information just before we were ambushed by a few detractors. Her manner of delivery left a bit to be desired and she is rather eager for violence, but she is an elf raised by humans and so likely did not learn much about our more peaceful ways. Her name is Sera and she offered up a bundle of pants as a trophy of sorts, proudly like a youngster showing completed lessons to a parent. It was rather endearing.

Our social schedule is rather more occupied now as well. First, the grand enchanter or some such, representing the mages in rebellion, invited us to visit their stronghold in Redcliffe. I am very interested to see how that culminates, since Redcliffe is near our recent endeavors in The Hinterlands. It is possible we might be able to eliminate some of the fighting between them and the Templars if we were to make inroads now.

The second was a court enchanter, I believe, representing the mages that have NOT rebelled. She has invited us to a fête at her home just outside the city. Of course, as I am not familiar with this "Game" as the Orlesians call their method of political maneuvering, I will have to wait to see what happens. Directness is easier to deal with. This strange dance of saying one thing and doing another? Such a waste of time… and effort! But, the effort of wearing something smooth and pretty against my skin for a time will not be too hard to bear.

Day 8 –

Well, so much for ending violence between the rebel mages and the rest of the world. A Tevinter magister is now involved. Grand Enchanter Fiona – the woman I mentioned previously representing Redcliffe - no longer recalls her invitation at all and has instead, made a deal with the Tevinter mage! I am certainly no expert in politics, but doesn't her agreement equate to sedition? I cannot imagine the lords of Redcliffe will be too happy. I doubt the King of Ferelden will be thrilled either.

Unfortunately, I sense that there is some sort of mesmerism at play as Fiona seems quite under the sway of this Magister named Alexius. Further, Alexius' own son snuck a note to me during our brief meeting with his father, asking me to meet him later. When I did, he and a man named Dorian stated forthrightly that Alexius was part of a Tevinter cult called the Venatori. From what I can gather, these Venatori are Tevinter supremacists who look to re-establish the rule of Tevinter across Thedas. I can't be sure, of course, but I feel I can trust these two men.

Day 9 -

The party at Vivienne's home was just stunning, and definitely, the single-most dangerous place I have been to date, including the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

The Orlesian nobles are quite unsure what to do, most are clinging to their games and parties as if losing them would mean their own death. Vivienne, the court enchanter I mentioned, pledged her assistance to our task. (I cannot even feel comfortable calling us "The Inquisition" in my own journal!)

She has agreed to join us, and very publically – for someone playing the Game – threw her hat in our ring by applying a frost enchantment upon a vocal opponent of ours. She did this in front of her guests, verbally chastising this critic so all could hear. I cannot pretend to understand it. My first question was what she hopes to gain, since the reality of imminent death would be foolishly ignored.

I still suspect her of her own motive, but it is clear that if she merely wanted to support us, she could have been much more circumspect.

Lilianna produced a lovely gown for me to wear – that woman _does_ have her resources, doesn't she? Gorgeous green velvet. My skin looked so very like porcelain. My vanity was quite reassured. Solas kissed my hand in a grand gesture, before I departed, telling me I was the very embodiment of our ancient forebears.

I am surprised my heart beats more quickly now recalling it.


	5. Chapter 5

Day 10 –

Rather difficult to pin that down, really, as I have been thrown forward in time "today".

Upon returning to deal with the Venatori in Redcliffe, we met with something quite unexpected: Alexius has created a type of time-traveling spell using an amulet. He anticipated my involvement as he wants to return to just prior to the explosion at the Conclave so that he might prevent my interference and thus allow his "master" to return.

Why do crazy men always have a "master" overseeing their sinister work? Alexius believes him to be an Elder One, one of the original Tevinter mages that sacked the Golden City of Arlathan.

None of that is important yet, because the fool has no control over this wild and erratic magic. He flung me and Dorian a year into our future.

If what we witnessed will become truth, I have no choice but success: saying it was horrific does it no justice.

Red lyrium grows like a kudzu vine, overtaking structures, stone and tree alike. What is even more dreadful is that it overtakes lives – walking, talking, living beings – all infected by this choking poison, content to bide its time until its host gives up the will to fight. I saw people in various stages of death from this; some, like my own companions that were forced to live through the year that brought us back together, were so far gone that their eyes glowed red from the infiltration. I even saw people who were half lyrium stone now, their bodies seeming to grow out of the formation.

Varric is right. Red lyrium is a blight of its own. I no longer question his motive for helping us. If I thought for even a moment that I had somehow unleashed this monster into the world, I would fight it with every ounce of strength I could muster. Guilt is a powerful motivator.

I do question just how he and his brother came across the amulet he mentioned, however. A trip into the Deep Roads, but how did they come upon this destination, I wonder? Perhaps there is a grand planner behind it all?

We destroyed everyone and everything that tried to stop our return to the correct time, but still we had to rely upon Cassandra and Solas giving their future lives to earn us enough time to escape. We did not have to watch them die, but… I cry now thinking of their willing sacrifices. Liliana… she had been tortured for some very long time – she was barely recognizable from it – she stood between Dorian and I and the entrance, guarding the way so Dorian could recreate the spell Alexius used to send us there.

We were not lucky enough to finish before Cassandra and Solas failed and so had to watch Lilliana be destroyed in our last seconds there.

The horror I saw… It will never leave me, as long as I breathe.

Dorian and I are now forever linked, tied by this event to each other. His sarcasm is a shield, and he uses it frequently and masterfully, but I see our strange marriage is not one-sided. He may not have the Fade-mark as I do, but he is fully dedicated.

The phrase "time will tell" worked in practice for me today and shows that Cassandra, Solas and Lilianna will give their lives to end the ascension of this Elder One. I will try to set aside whatever lingering doubts I have.

We could only give a brief account of what happened upon our return, although only seconds had passed in the true time. Tomorrow we will give a more complete accounting of events. May this this sleeping potion sent by the apothecary work and I pray The Fade can help erase some of the despair, some of the remorse, even some of the guilt eating my heart away.


	6. Chapter 6

Day 11-

They insanely believe it will be as simple as closing the Breach!

The sleep of the drugged came, but the restorative sleep I craved was nowhere to be found. My headache, normally reserved for the late afternoons now, returned in all its morning glory. But I do not recall my dreams at all either, so maybe I did not even visit the Fade last night. The headache, the Fade, my Fade-mark – there is a connection there plainly, but I don't understand how they work together yet.

So, yes. Everyone is convinced that if I am bolstered by the power of the mages, I should be able to close the Breach once and for all. People cling to the most ridiculous ideas. I have told them it won't work, but they don't believe me. Dorian seems to agree, but he is not trusted yet, so his opinions hold no merit.

Solas believes me, too, but he does not like Dorian, so is unwilling to support him publically. Could he be jealous of our fast friendship? I realize I quickly gained trust for Dorian, but surely Solas must concede our sharing such a terrifying event could be enough to cause that?

Solas is definitely a puzzle. He is not from a Clan, so he does not know the ways of the Dalish. Neither is he from an alienage somewhere. Perhaps he has a dislike of all things from Tevinter? But where would he get that from if he were not from there? He is a man full of emotion when he recounts the tales of the ruins he has visited in the Fade, but when he is in the present, there is a permanent sadness about him. Or hopelessness. I cannot quite decide. History rolls off his tongue as though it occurred yesterday instead of ages ago and he quickly dismisses some of the Dalish methods as being misdirected, uninformed or outright wrong. Although, others from my clan would be outraged by his opinion, I find myself agreeing once he presents his argument through his eyes.

I will have a few more days to ponder, while we wait for the arrival of the mages. In the meantime, we have word of something happening at the Storm Coast. We will travel there tomorrow to resolve it.

Please, Mythal, Great Protector – guide my hand and protect us all. How happy I will be if I am wrong about sealing this Breach. Please let these people be correct. Please let us simply succeed.

Day 12 –

The rain doesn't seem to stop on The Storm Coasts. I actually rather like it here.

We have set up camp overlooking the beach, but there is nothing serene about the view. Destroyed ships of all types litter the area like broken toys. Here the ocean violently swells, colliding against the pillared rocks with the grace of an infuriated bronto.

Pirates apparently make use of this literal port in a storm to take advantage of already shaken travelers, especially those who arrive accidentally. Most determined visitors seem to already have an idea of the climate and arrive well-armed. It's the only way we travel, of course, and sadly for them, bandits are no difficulty when compared with demons.

We've hired a mercenary band called The Chargers, who also knew to arrive well-prepared. They're led by a Qunari named The Iron Bull. He openly admits to being a spy for the Ben'Hassrath and tells me he'll be sending reports on to them on our movements and operations. What was that story about a snake saying he's a snake and when you later get bitten by him he reminds you that he told you he was a snake? Hi. I'm a Qunari spy and these are my merry men! It doesn't have the same cold-hearted hiss.

The Iron Bull, well… He's very large. I have an irrational desire to have him lift me with one hand over his head because I am so small by comparison, that once visualized has simply remained. I am more like Sera than I thought, after all.

The honesty and directness was a breath of fresh air to me after all of the intrigues, so I actually find I quite liked him.

Tomorrow, we will return to Haven. The day after, The Breach.

I have never been so grateful to be slightly damp in a tent on a rocky shore in my life. The winds and rain will rock me to sleep as they always have.

PS: Varric snores. Solas shared some lamb's wool with me. I may be willing to suspend my questions of his ulterior motives and simply ask him to marry me out of gratitude.


	7. Chapter 7

Day 38 perhaps… Does it really matter?

Our plans greatly underestimated our foes.

That this sheaf of papers still exists is quite the wonder. Apparently, I have that timid young elven girl I met the day I first woke up to thank for that. In the chaos, she stayed focused trying to make sure my pack survived. Certainly, her concern for my pack helped keep _her_ alive but it saddens me to think she cares more for my pack than for her own life. The world _must_ change soon.

But that is apparently the Elder One's plan, certainly not in the manner that I would change it, but I suppose it is unlikely we would see eye to eye. We know a name now: Corypheus.

The breach itself closed relatively easily. We went to the ruins of the temple, they pointed me at the sky and I closed it. One, two, three.

But as evening fell, a stranger pounded on the gates, just as our watch guards lit the warning fires and rang the Chantry bell. Torches were spotted littering the mountain pass. The stranger, Cole, arrived just ahead of them to warn us of the coming attack by an army of Templars, corrupted by the red lyrium.

The red lyrium seemed to bolster their strength and remove their ability to tell right from wrong. Or perhaps it was a conduit of the hatred of Corypheus. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Templars were not easy to fight with before this turn of events. Now…

They overran Haven and as we were just giving up hope, two things happened: first, Corypheus arrived, complete with his own Archdemon dragon mount. The second, Chancellor Roderick, mortally wounded somehow could communicate with this stranger, Cole, and he saved many of our people using a little used path that the penitent use during the summer months for a pilgrimage.

Chancellor Roderick is a true hero, and if I ever have the chance to record this history properly, I intend to make certain this is noted.

I, however, destroyed Haven.

Tactically, it was what we had to do. We simply did not have the means to fight whomever or whatever Corypheus and his pet dragon were. Are.

He had no real interest in the others, of course. My Fade-Mark was his goal; in fact, he claimed it was his creation and called it "The Anchor". Of course, he also claimed to have been one of the Magisters who walked in the Golden City and found it vacant, no Maker on the throne, no people in the streets.

I gave my companions just enough time to join the others and I fully intended to be the one person to die so the others might live but… I did not die and I don't know why. The dragon itself slashed at me just as I kicked the latch on a loaded trebuchet, launching the shot off into the mountainside above Haven.

So I distracted him just long enough to bury the town and his army under tons of rock and snow.

How long I was unconscious, I do not know, but I eventually woke to discover myself in a long-abandoned tunnel. For days, I limped along through the freezing snow, hungry, seeking shelter where it could be found and falling helplessly to the ground in exhaustion when it could not. Since that march, I have often wondered if this "Anchor" may have sustained me through some magical means.

Corypheus could not remove it from me and retrieve his prize, as it were, but trust me. I have scars on my shoulder where his talons grasped me and threw me bodily against the trebuchet. Perhaps I am the inadvertent heir to some life-lengthening magic? After all, the sacking of the Golden City occurred hundreds of years, if not more than a thousand years, ago and the mind of the crazed magister still lives. Can he have discovered the lost secrets of uthenera when he sacked the city?

While I know he will kill me if I ever give him the opportunity, I did not sense lies in the words of Corypheus, but The Golden City was the home of my kindred, the ancient and wondrous elvhen. Why would they have abandoned their city? Why would they not stay and fight? Was he such a terror to them then as he is to us now? Did they run and hide in the face of a more formidable foe?

My mind is quite troubled about that.

Eventually, I found signs of the survivors and followed them. Commander Cullen should be congratulated for actually persevering in his post, refusing to give up the watch even after days had fallen behind us. I have never been so grateful to have warm arms around me as I was that night. He kept whispering, "Thank the Maker! You are safe now. You are safe now." It was himself he was convincing instead of me, I think, however.

The survivors were awestruck, relieved, but also disbelieving. I am now well and firmly their Herald of Andraste and there is absolutely nothing I can do about that. Even telling them directly that I am not some mystical chosen being does no good. In their minds, I survived an encounter with an Archdemon and a Magister of old while simultaneously dodging an avalanche that destroyed the land where I stood. Having put it that way, I begin to see their point. As they are most definitely Andrastian, it does make sense that I would not be the Avatar of Andruil, for example. In fairness, I do not feel any divine hand guiding my steps or sheltering me from harm. Would I recognize it if there was?

There is more on this topic to report – a good deal more – but I am so weary and have been cold for so long. Tonight, history be damned! I am in front of a warm fire and will contend with this Vital History of a Dalish First after I sleep.


End file.
